The Mountain

Since I've been here on the Mountain, in the country, in the backwoods of Tennessee, it's been an experiment and "test" for me to go with the flow, to allow things to unfurl and happen as they may.  In the city or even in small towns, life is contrived: planned, anticipated, already pre-determined by schedules and agendas.  And then there is just the general discontent for the want of more--material goods, acknowledgment, status, peace of mind, direction, discussion, connection.

I'm not saying that those things don't occur in the country.  People can certainly be unsettled here, too.  Drugs--mostly meth production and consumption--are a rampant problem for some.  I've seen the made-up ladies with their aerosalled hair driving BMWs down country highways or the dulled, pot-bellied men buying cigarettes and beer at the local gas station or a fat man and woman traipsing around their garbage-strewn front yard and plopping down on a dirty couch as though that might be the only thing to do in their world.

Maybe it's the particular place I am in the country--the Mountain: a covenant of hills blanketed by thickets of trees; winding roads that all look the same, especially after dark when even your brights can't help to discern a bend in the road or one God-fearing sign from the next; a pasture of grazing animals--goats on one farm, horses on the next, a couple of ostriches, or maybe it was ostriches there and horses next, and goats somewhere else; a well-kempt cottage, a trailer, an impressive log cabin, a dump, or random trails that actually lead to another part of the Mountain that you might pass by if you didn't know that they led to where you wanted to go.

Most people just live here, some have lived here for generations, inheriting land from their parents and grandparents and trying to carve out a life for themselves from the generous land that requires so much tending and work.  Others have moved here because they remember passing through the lushushness of Tennessee: resplendent with the green of the foliage and the woods and the tumultuous pink-clouded, electric blue, gray firmament of revelation and glory; the clap of thunder that echoes through the canyons of trees and the lightning that darts through slate skies; creatures that scamper and sprint across the road, insects--microscopic or as big as your hand--that bite, sting, sing, and just fly and buzz around constantly; the quiet, the dark, the humidity, and the absolute grace and beauty of Mother Nature all convene here in mid-Tennessee.

It is also the place where I find myself here on the Mountain, though, just miles from The Retreat--this place that so many of the friends I've come to know in the last two months have all gathered around.

I've heard many stories now about The Retreat and how it came to be.  It was a hippie commune, it was a communist sanctuary, it was a place where people could come to escape the confines of the city or capitalist society and live with Mother Nature, give and take with the land and learn how to live with each other.  Then, it became a haven for gay men to come away from the city and appropriated roles and live life freely, leanly, fully together without harm, without judgment to nurture each other and Mother Nature as one.  A beautiful life.

People came.  Since the 70s.  People came and lived here at The Retreat--a pocket in the hills of The Mountain--and settled there.  I don't know what it was like in the 70s, 80s or 90s, but now, as an outsider, as a straight Japanese American woman from Los Angeles in 2010, I have come to know The Retreat as this: a true haven.  It is a slice of Heaven, a slice of Life, a sliver of what could be in this World, a redemption for all the evils and misconstrued expectations and acceptances of what a Good Life is all about.  This is the Good Life: living freely, without expectation or want, having a community of people to find the balm for your insecurities or uncertainties, experiencing your sexuality openly without fear, coming to an understanding about true reciprocity, taking from the land and giving back equally, finding peace even in your own disquiet, staying still and just listening to the world around you, which, in this world, is all bugs and darkness.

I say this from afar, still, because I have not or am not, maybe, of this world that I have landed in.  I have not experienced my sexuality freely (though I have certainly toyed with the idea), I have not lived truly freely without expectation or want, but I am learning about reciprocity, taking from the land and giving back equally, finding peace in my own disquiet, staying still and listening to the world around me, in the bugs and darkness or light of day, and finding a community of people who have given me the balm for my insecurities and uncertainties.  Since I have been here, whether its the woods or the people who have lived here longer than me and have a deeper understanding of what Life and reciprocity is all about, I have said to others around me that these woods, this land, the people who inhabit this place, have given me exactly what I needed, whether good or bad.  Maybe it's the quiet that's allowed me to receive it--good or bad--but, regardless, there is something about This Place that has given me exactly what I need.

And I am forever grateful....